


A Lifetime of Moments

by AwildCAPRICORGIhasappeared



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddling, Cute, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, M/M, Nightmares, No Smut, Now it's a date, Sherlock Cares, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock gets injured, john is a doctor, slow build relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwildCAPRICORGIhasappeared/pseuds/AwildCAPRICORGIhasappeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in John and Sherlock's friendship that build up to a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lifetime of Moments

**Author's Note:**

> New to fanfiction and Johnlock

John was asleep in his chair again, his head resting heavily on his fist.

Sherlock, pacing and muttering about his boredom, paused when John released a heavy huff of breath, shifting.

"John?" Silence.

Sherlock grabbed his blanket off the sofa and draped it over his friend. With a brisk nod, he resumed his pacing.

xxx

John grumbled and sent off another text. Suddenly, the phone was pulled from his grasp and replaced with a cup of tea.

"Hey!" John exclaimed as Sherlock slipped the mobile into his trouser pocket. "Sherlock!"

"John, you're becoming increasingly agitated. Drink the tea."

John eyed the tea. It didn't look to be contaminated with any experiments, and it smelled like tea. He took a hesitant sip and then another longer one. Catching Sherlock's eyes, he muttered, "I want my mobile back," but didn't reach for it.

xxx

Violin, soft but steady, floated into John's room. He listened to one of his favorite symphonies as his gasping calmed and his tears dried.

He and Sherlock never talked about the nightmares and how Sherlock played to help him, but tonight felt differently. He slipped out of bed and made his way downstairs, but not to the sitting room. Instead, he leaned against the hallway wall, slowly sliding down to sit with his head buried in his arms as the music washed over him.

When Sherlock finished the suite, he cleaned his instrument and put it away. John had dozed off in the hallway. Sherlock placed a hand solidly on his shoulder, holding firm as he jerked awake and looked blearily up at his flatmate. Sherlock kept his hand there a moment longer, then stepped past John to his room. John rubbed his face, cleared his throat, and went back upstairs to wait for morning.

xxx

John opened the door to the flat and stopped. He sniffed the air, cautiously making his way up the seventeen steps.

Sherlock was at the table, clicking away on John's laptop. He didn't look up, merely said, "Dinner's in the kitchen."

"Sherlock, you cooked?"

"It's just chemistry."

"What's the occasion?"

"Does there need to be one? I wanted to cook for you."

The clicking stopped. Sherlock hummed. The clicking continued.

John chuckled to himself and went to fill a plate.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

xxx

John answered the phone. "Hello?"

"John, I, uh, can you come home please?"

"Sherlock what's wrong? You never call and you never say please."

"Better for you to come home before I say anything else. Although..." A muffled grunt echoes over the line, following by the staticky rustling of cloth near the microphone. "I used up the gauze in your kit, you'll need more." Sherlock hung up.

"Bloody... Sarah, I have to go, I'm sorry, Sherlock did something and I have to go." He rushed out of the office without so much of a backward glance, a spare first aid kit in his hands.

When he got home, he found Sherlock on the floor, his hands pressed against his side. His usually pristine collared shirt was unbuttoned and stained dark red with blood. John rushed over, simultaneously removing Sherlock's hands and used gauze and applying new pressure to the wound.

"You bloody git, what have you done?" John raged quietly while his hands worked steadily to clean and dress the deep cut. Sherlock was silent and pale, his hands limp on the floor and covered in red. "I didn't know you even had a case," John muttered.

Sherlock shook his head. "No case." He slowly pointed toward the soda, where a length of razor sharp sheet metal rested, drips of blood along its length. "For experiments. Became distracted. Tripped on sofa." His breath shuddered.

"Idiot," John breathed out. Tying off the bandages, he helped Sherlock sit up and remove his ruined shirt. The doctor in John barely glanced at Sherlock's bared torso, but the rest of him took in his lithe, elegant body. Sherlock leaned into him, resting his forehead against John's cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered.

xxx

Sherlock had been scared. he had lost too much blood too quickly to handle the situation himself. He admitted this to John later while having his side redressed.

John smoothed the bandages gently. If Sherlock had waited a minute longer to call, or John hadn't immediately left... He had already lost Sherlock once, and this wasn't even for a case! What if...

Sherlock noticed John lost in thought with a melancholy expression and placed a hand on his arm. "John, come back. I'm fine. I'm here."

John smiled sadly at him, patting his hand before pulling out of reach.

xxx

Sherlock peeked into the kitchen. John was standing at the open fridge, humming.

"John?"

"Sherlock!" John spun around, face reddening. "You shouldn't be moving about yet." He pulled Sherlock into a chair and checked his side. It was healing well, albeit slowly. 

Sherlock's eyes followed his doctor's movements. "You were humming," he said slowly. "You have a date," he deduced.

John looked up from Sherlock's side and into his eyes. "No, I don't. You need me here."

"Then... why?"

"I don't need a reason to hum."

His flatmate's eyebrows lifted as he regarded John, who rolled his eyes and walked back to the fridge, pulling out their leftovers from the night before. He split the food onto two plates and heated the kettle for tea.

"Now what are you doing? We never use plates for leftovers." 

"I thought tonight we could eat at the table. With plates."

Sherlock waited silently, tracking his doctor as he prepared their dinner. He leaned over to pull a candle and matches out of a nearby drawer.

When John turned back to the table, he stopped and looked between the single flame and his friend. Sherlock smiled shyly, but his voice was warm and steady when he looked up at John. "Now it's a date."

xxx

"Sherlock, I'm going to get milk," John called from the kitchen. He appeared in the doorway and looked at the man curled into his chair, his fingers twisted into his dark curls. They hadn't had a case in weeks and Sherlock was running out of distractions. 

John walked over and grabbed his hands, hauling him up. Maintaining a firm grip, he dragged Sherlock to the door before handing him his Belstaff. "You're coming with me, let's get out of this flat for a bit." He turned to go downstairs. "Come on, let's go, coat on!" He called over his shoulder. 

Sherlock stared at his hands, now full of expensive wool, but just moments before had been surrounded by strong warmth.

He looked up at the spot where John had been, then followed him downstairs and out the door, swirling the coat on as he went. When he caught up with John, he let his fingers just lightly sweep against John's wrist. The shorter man smiled up at him. "What?"

Sherlock sighed and moved away.

xxx

John was pretending to watch telly, but was really waiting for Sherlock to peek around from the kitchen again. He had been working an experiment in there, but John had noticed him seeming to check on him several times. Unsure of this new behavior, John started counting the times Sherlock looked over; he was reaching near fifteen now in the last hour.

This time, instead of Sherlock just peering through the kitchen doorway at John, he bounded up and walked over, planting himself on the other end of the sofa. Puzzled, John glanced at him, but his flatmate kept his gaze on the screen. Resigned to put up with this new bit of strange, John settled back to watch his show.

A few moments later, Sherlock shuffled closer. As time passed, he moved close enough that their hands, resting on the sofa cushions between them, brushed against each other. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked, exasperated.

"I'm trying to get close to you, obviously," he deadpanned.

"Well, you're very close."

"Can we get closer?"

"...Why?"

"To... cuddle."

John looked him over, surprise evident on his face. Sherlock turned red, knowing he had gone about this incorrectly but unable to do anything differently now.

"John, I..." He placed his hand over John's, squeezing lightly. "Hmm. I'm not good at this."

John laughed. He curled his fingers around Sherlock's, entwining their hands together. Noting the clamminess of the other man's hand, he searched his best friend's face. Unusually nervous eyes looked back at him.

"Come here, you git." He tugged the brunet so that their bodies touched shoulder to thigh, and kept a steady grip on his hand. "Let's start here, ok? We'll work our way up to cuddling." This was received with that rare brilliant smile, and John couldn't help but smile back.

xxx

Sliding into bed with his lover, who was already falling asleep, he nuzzled the other's neck and snuggled around him.

"Sh-lock," mumbled John. "Cold feet."

"Mmm, but you're so warm." Sherlock replied quietly, holding John closer but shifting his feet away. Leaning over, Sherlock pressed a kiss to the corner of John's lips, then settled back to sleep the only way he could—cuddling his best friend, lover, and partner.


End file.
